


Christmas Wake Up Call

by CharWright5



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Consensual Somnophilia, Dirty Sex, Establish Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Morning Sex, Post Series, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharWright5/pseuds/CharWright5
Summary: Derek isn't a morning person, and typically neither is Stiles...except on Christmas, of course.





	Christmas Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaneErikaBrady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneErikaBrady/gifts).



> Um... Happy Christmas Eve! I'm so fucking stressed right now lmao!
> 
> Anyway, this was a commission made by Janey that she has permitted me to share with you guys. Hope your holidays are awesome and less stress-inducing than mine!

Contrary to popular belief, Derek Hale was _not_ a morning person, never had been. Not voluntarily anyway. Yeah, when he moved back to Beacon Hills the first time, he was forced to be, squatting in what remained of his family's house and basically on the lam from hunters, cops, and noisy fucking teenagers. Rising with the sun was a survival mechanism at that point, a way to ensure no one snuck up on him, took him out while he slept, finished the job Kate had started years before.

Then he was traveling with Cora and Peter, on the run from the Calaveras, then back to Beacon Hills where countless monsters were breathing down the necks of himself and the ragtag group of supernaturals and humans that had somehow formed a Pack under the guidance of a floppy haired idiot. Then he left once more, tracking Kate, being tracked himself, and his final return to Beacon Hills had come with the news that humans were now aware that they weren't the only species in existence and that all the old legends and folk tales were true.

But gradually the dust settled and Beacon Hills went from battleground to prime example of how the supernatural and the powerless could live side by side in harmony and benefit from one another. Both sides were protected—humans from the more malevolent of monsters, supernaturals from the more malevolent of humans—and both sides were treated as equals.

Granted there was still the odd discriminatory bastard who tried to make life hard for anyone who had claws or fangs or powers of any description, but Derek wasn't all that surprised about it to be honest. Some humans still had issues accepting those of their own kind with any sort of difference in skin color, sexuality, gender identity, religion, tax bracket, whatever. Just made sense that those same bigots weren't open to living alongside those who had the ability to slash their throats open and not even break a sweat.

For the most part though, Derek's life was fairly peaceful now, something he'd always thought would be impossible. Yet he'd found it, his own slice of the American dream, the normal life that his parents had always wanted for their kids. It still stung to think about the fact that they weren't around to see the changes in their town, in the land they swore to protect, and that he was largely responsible for their being gone, but it got easier. He actually went to therapy with Morrell, learned how to deal with the guilt and the trauma of the past decade or so of his life. He bought back his family's property from the county and with the help of contractors, built a new house on the opposite side from the old one—building there just felt too much like building on a graveyard. He began a consulting job with Sheriff Stilinski, helped him learn about and understand his supernatural citizens.

He fell in love.

He learned to relax and enjoy every day he was given, learned that not everyone was out to get him and it was okay to be okay, learned to take things easy and do as he pleased.

Like sleeping in every morning, black-out curtains and the woods surrounding his home doing their job of hiding the sun from his eyes and allowing him to rest. And ordinarily, so did his lover, another person who was averse to early wake-up calls and preferred to bury himself under the comforter when the birdsong outside began to serenade them.

Except for this morning apparently, because Derek was being woken up by a hard suck around his cock, a groan being pulled from him as he was yanked from sleep. The wet heat around his most sensitive organ, the hum vibrating around the tender flesh had his groggy mind caught between anger at having been disturbed and pleasure at how good it felt, his boyfriend naturally gifted with fantastic oral skills and only getting better over the years of their relationship.

Blinking, Derek managed to lift his lids, the dark of the room greeting him. A quick peek at his nightstand showed it was barely past seven and it was on the tip of his tongue to growl out his annoyance at the early wake-up call...only the tip of his boyfriend's tongue slipped into his slit and made him gasp out instead, cock twitching and thigh quivering in response.

Peering down his body showed him nothing but the blue plaid comforter they'd purchased together, one of their first real adult joint purchases—as his partner had put it—telltale lumps and bumps giving away exactly where his boyfriend was.

As if it wasn't already obvious.

Derek lifted the comforter up and stared down his body, past the torso he'd been encouraged to stop shaving, to his spread legs and the lithe male laying between them. Stiles' brown bambi eyes flipped up to meet his green ones and even in the lack of light, the werewolf could perfectly make out every detail: long lashes, a plethora of moles, upturned nose, sharp cheekbones, stretched lips. Stiles pulled back to the head in order to grin, sucking hard before slipping the hard length out entirely.

“Merry Christmas, Der,” he greeted cheekily, voice rough from his actions and from the early hour, and Derek felt his cock twitch in response where Stiles still held onto the base of it. His smirk was still there as he laved the flat of his tongue on the glans of Derek's dick, wrenching another groan from the wolf.

Derek scowled as best he could given the fact that his boyfriend was now slowly stroking him, his cock wet and glistening from smeared precome and Stiles' saliva. The little shit only ever woke up early twice a year, his birthday and on Christmas, his childlike excitement meaning he couldn't stay asleep.

He also apparently couldn't let Derek stay asleep, too eager to get shit, and was clearly trying to bribe the werewolf into not being pissed at being woken up with the birds by giving him a much-too-early gift.

“Love you,” Stiles added on, still sucking up, running his tongue down the length of Derek's cock before sucking one of his balls into his mouth.

Little fucker, Derek mentally chastised as his head fell back and his legs spread further, another moan pulled from somewhere in his chest. He knew exactly what to do, where to touch, what to lick, in order to basically play Derek like a violin. Not that Derek could complain all that much, not when he could do the same to Stiles, had perfected the art of making the lithe male sing so prettily, even driving him to tears from overwhelming pleasure on occasion.

Like the night before, the memories coming back to Derek as his entire sac was engulfed. He'd rimmed Stiles for so long the human was threatening to shove wolfsbane up his ass if he didn't hurry up and fuck him. By the time he was done, Stiles was practically passed out, a total wreck covered in sweat, tears, lube, and both of their come.

He'd been beautiful.

He was beautiful at that moment, too, spit covered lips shining in the dark, red and stretched, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. Pulling the comforter over his own head, Derek reached down with his now free hands to drag one through messy brown hair as the other cupped Stiles' cheek. God, he loved this man, a thought that had occurred to him countless times over the years, an emotion that had gradually built up as they'd gotten to known one another and had built up trust and respect. And to that day, every time the reminder came to him, it felt like the first time, with his breath being caught in his too tight chest and his stomach flipping and his skin tingling.

The physical reactions grew in intensity when Stiles nuzzled into his palm, turning to press a kiss into it, and Derek was reminded that Stiles loved him back, just as fiercely and all-encompassing as Derek felt for him. The werewolf honestly didn't think he'd ever have this, that he'd ever deserve it, yet there it was, laying between his legs, smiling softly in a way that he had no business doing, considering what he'd just been up to.

Yeah, he loved Stiles and Stiles loved him and if he wanted, he could have this forever.

And he very much fucking wanted.

“C'mere,” he rumbled, moving his hands to Stiles' arms and tugging enough to hint, not enough to hurt. He'd learned when to use his strength, when not to, his limits and Stiles'. He'd rather let Stiles shove the threatened wolfsbane up his ass than cause his boyfriend any physical harm in any way and while he'd taken great care in the beginning, to the point of paranoia, to watch how much strength and force he used, now it was second nature, like breathing, using the right touch and grip.

Stiles' smile shifted to something more determined and anticipatory, sliding his body up along Derek's until he was laying on top of him, bare torsos pressed together, hard length against hard length. Apparently his actions hadn't riled up _just_ Derek, Stiles leaking profusely, his pre mixing with the werewolf's and the saliva still coating him. Groans escaped them both at the contact, Derek's hips bucking up on automatic, hands sliding down to cup fleshy cheeks and squeeze. A whimper escaped Stiles at that and a purr-like rumble emanated from Derek's chest. Greedy, he chased more, rolling his hips, rolling their cocks together, determined to coax those same sounds out.

“Derek.” His name was a prayer breathed out against his lips, Stiles' eyes drifting closed and forehead lowering to the older man's. Derek lifted his own to connect their lips, muffling any complaints over morning breath that his boyfriend may spurt out, not wanting to hear anything except the sweet way Stiles whined and moaned for him.

Both their hips were rolling now, Stiles shifting his legs into a straddling position to gain more leverage, to move easier. Derek palmed at his cheeks as he slipped his tongue inside Stiles' mouth, following familiar routes he'd mapped out long ago, tasting both his lover and the sounds he made. His fingers drifted towards the crevice of his ass, wondering if he'd still be open from the night before, blindly yet familiarly feeling along for the center of him that he longed to be in so much.

Only...

Only his fingers came across something hard, not quite rubber but not quite plastic. He traced the circular diameter of it and the epiphany had him groaning deep as he figured it out.

Stiles grinned against his lips, effectively breaking their kiss, and he pulled away with a small gust of laughter breezing out from his nose. “Your present from last year.”

A swear left Derek at that memory, at the set of plugs he'd bought for Stiles, who was determined to learn how to take Derek's knot, to train himself up to it. And the animalistic side of Derek, the territorial part of him, had been all too eager to give in to his boyfriend's wish, to his own wish, too, he could admit. He'd never really fully trusted his past partners with something like that and he'd worried over Stiles' fragility, yet holding it back had proven to be painful, especially as they grew closer and Derek began to realize that this wasn't just a boyfriend for him, but something more.

So Valentine's Day—cheesily enough—he'd knotted his Mate for the first time, fighting to hold back the term the entire time, wanting it to be the perfect moment when he dropped such a major bomb on him.

Soon, he knew, distracting himself by pressing against the plug seated inside of Stiles, moving so it rubbed against the most sensitive parts of his passageway. And judging by the way Stiles quivered above him and mewled, Derek had nailed it.

It was his turn to grin wickedly now, feeling every inch the big bad wolf as he continued to play with the lithe male writhing atop him. “You gonna take my knot like a good boy? Let me tie us together and pump you so full that you can't stand it but are forced to take it? Stretch you out and make you cry with it?”

Stiles shivered above him and Derek inhaled the heady scents of arousal and need, sharp and spicy. His dick throbbed against the younger man's, and he swore he felt his knot pulsing under the surface, like it knew it was gonna be able to expand and keep them locked together.

Another purr rumbled up from him and he rubbed his cheek against Stiles', marking him with his own scent, whiskers rasping in their comforter cocoon. “I think that's a yes,” he teased against Stiles' sensitive ear, nipping at the lobe.

“That's a very enthusiastic 'fuck yes',” Stiles retorted, voice weak already, and Derek bit back any responding sounds of his own.

Derek grinned, wide and feral, nose full of Stiles' aroused scent, ears full of Stiles' excited heartbeat. Gripping the base of the plug, he rolled it around, grinding it against his prostate in one last tease, before smacking both hands on his cheeks. “Where's the lube?”

Stiles sat up, flipping the comforter up, back, and away, then reached over to the nightstand. Derek heard the sound of a click a second before the fairy lights Stiles had decorated their room with came to life, illuminating his pale skin, casting him in an ethereal glow. He grew distracted by the play of glow and shadows across his moving musculature that he forgot what they were even doing in the first place, mind fuzzing down to the singular thought over how beautiful Stiles was.

Raising himself up, Derek attached his lips to his boyfriend's flat pecs, praising milky flesh with his mouth, worshiping and loving. His lips dragged over to one of his nipples, wrapping around them and drawing a gasp from the lithe male he enveloped in his arms. Stiles' own arms engulfed Derek's head, bowing over him as he panted harshly at the attention, another exploited weak spot the wolf had discovered early on.

Hips rolled, his cock throbbed, keens filled his ears, and the air grew thick with want. Their scents tangled together like the headiest perfume, musky and spicy and damn near edible. His hands roamed downward, gripping cheeks once more before taking hold of the plug between them. He rolled it around to make sure it was loose enough, lips moving to the neglected hard peak of his boyfriend's chest. The rubber toy slipped out, Stiles bearing down to help ease the way, a prolonged groan leaving him as though somehow connected.

The bottle of lube was pressed against the back of his hand and Derek shifted his mouth to the side of Stiles' neck, rumbling in approval at the way the human automatically tilted it to the side, baring his throat in submission, giving him more territory to mark. And as tempted as Derek was to leave behind a collar of bruises to show ownership, he held back, knowing they would be seeing the sheriff later on, a man who wouldn't approve of such blatant symbols of intimacy.

Knowing your son was having sex was one thing. Knowing the details of his kink about being bitten was another.

So Derek quickly covered the fingers of his right hand, three easily sliding inside of his Mate, and moved his mouth back to Stiles' chest, biting and sucking all the marks he wanted to there. Stiles cried out at the attention, hips automatically bucking and riding what was inside him, fingers getting tangled in Derek's black hair. It didn't take long for Derek to slip his pinky past his boyfriend's loosened hole, further stretching him and getting him ready, and Stiles shot off a swear, tugging at dark locks.

They were both worked up, evidenced by the scents in the air that Derek was sure even Stiles' human nose could pick up, the way their skin grew damp yet prickled with goosebumps, the fact that both of their breathing wasn't anything close to resembling normal anymore. The wolf made quick work of slipping his fingers out and slicking up his cock and Stiles didn't hesitate to hold himself open, dropping down onto the hard length practically the second the tip just barely nudged against his hole.

Twin groans filled the air, Stiles' head falling back as he let gravity pull him down and fill him up. Derek watched with half-lidded eyes, entranced by his Mate as always, the way he seemed taut and loose at the same time. Red flush spread across his chest, camouflaging teeth impressions but not the hickeys Derek had sucked into his skin. His chest was shaky as his breathing grew tremulous and Derek knew the feeling, his own lungs feeling erratic and out of sorts.

Hell, all of him felt out of sorts, nothing seeming to be functioning normally. Except for his dick, of course, throbbing where it was buried inside wet heat, tight velvet walls clutching and quivering around him. No, that seemed to be working the way it should, and he had to fight to keep his hips still, to not thrust up and claim the way he was dying to.

With a hand on his shoulder, Stiles pushed Derek back and the wolf allowed himself to fall, propping himself up with pillows so he was lounging more than laying. An approving smile flickered across Stiles' face before he began rolling his hips, choking on a sound at the feeling. Derek gripped onto his hips to help him keep balance, not controlling or changing the rhythm. It was clear Stiles wanted to be in charge, wanted to be the one to drive them both, and despite the more lupine part of him yelling that he was the dominant species and should act as such, Derek was perfectly happy to lay back and give Stiles the reins.

Especially when he got a view like this. Stiles' pale throat on display as his head repeatedly fell back, his jaw slack and eyes half-lidded in pleasure. The contraction of his abdominal muscles and the play of his obliques, his forearms. His cock rolling and bobbing with the motions, dripping pre onto Derek's torso, getting caught in the trail of dark hair leading to where they were joined. And when Stiles switched to a more traditional up and down riding motion, Derek was able to watch himself repeatedly enter his Mate, see how his cock glistened with lube, red and angry that it was no longer buried in that tight heat before it was clutched inside once more.

The rhythm was slow, a gentle rocking, like the ocean undulating during low tide. Derek felt like the shore Stiles was lapping against, connecting them together, bringing them together over and over again. Fucking was good, the rough, animalistic snarling, biting, spanking, screaming, slamming, waking up sore and bruised and not sure where the marks came from...it was fantastic. But this? This was just as amazing, the slow build of it all, watching the way every motion hit every nerve and the ensuing reactions playing across Stiles' face. The eye contact they struggled to hold when it got to be a little too much. The Christmas lights reflecting off the sweat building over their skin.

Love making, not fucking, and while it ratcheted Derek up and drove him higher, it also settled something inside him, calmed him, knowing he had Stiles so close once more.

Reaching up, he cupped Stiles' face in his palm once more, that stupid song about having the whole world in his hand popping into his head. Because that's what it felt like, his entire world—no, his entire universe held in his palm, with tender loving care and an awe that he was even able to be close to this, much less have it.

And as if sensing the train of thought—or possibly seeing it on Derek's face, reading him as perfectly as he always could—Stiles turned and kissed his palm once more, as tender as Derek was feeling, reverent and loving and heart-stoppingly blissful. A small noise escaped past Derek's parted lips, his brow pulled in an aching need, and Stiles responded with the briefest of nods, still laving affection to the wolf's hand, a hand that could sprout claws and so easily kill him.

They'd come a long way since that time in the pool, hiding from Jackson in his kanima form, Derek stating they don't trust one another. Because now they did. Stiles trusted Derek not to actually rip his throat out with any werewolf feature and Derek trusted Stiles to not actually shove wolfsbane up his ass while he was asleep.

Trust. Love. Need. All wrapped up in this moment shared between the two of them and the glow of Christmas lights around them.

With gentle motions, Derek began rolling his hips, joining in the rhythm his boyfriend, his love, his Mate had created. Stiles held onto Derek's wrist with a near death grip, blunt fingernails digging into the tender inside, harsh pants leaving him. His whines grew louder, always vocal, no matter what, and the sounds went to Derek's cock, to his knot, throbbing and filling and getting harder to hold back.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, choking out an “I” before being unable to continue.

“Good,” Stiles panted right back, teeth grazing the mound of Derek's thumb before releasing his wrist.

Hands roamed bodies long since mapped out, Derek plucking at peaked nipples, Stiles scratching at muscular pecs. Their motions grew more intense but no less tender or loving, Stiles perfectly bearing down to accept Derek's ever growing knot, crying out each time it popped inside then back out, stretching and tugging at a sensitive rim. The wolf knew he was getting close, that once he fully inflated he'd be coming, but was determined to see Stiles through to his end first. So every time he thrust in, he rolled his hips in the perfect motion to rub it against his boyfriend's prostate, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

Half formed swears and Derek's name fell from Stiles' mouth like a waterfall, his muscles clenching tighter, eyes struggling to remain open as they tried to roll back. When Derek grew too big to pull back out, he focused solely on that sensitive bundle inside, massaging and grinding with a precision brought on only by much practice. His hand twitched to take hold of Stiles' cock, to stroke it and help him fall over, but he knew how much the human preferred to come like this, untouched and unaided, a prostate orgasm more intense. One day Derek was gonna play with nothing but that bundle, was gonna make him come dry over and over again from the nerves alone.

Until then though...

Until then, he focused as best he could on driving his knot against it, watching as Stiles grew even more taut, watching as his face contorted into something almost pained as he drew ever closer, watching as his mouth hung open on a near silent scream before he gasped out several times in harsh succession. Then finally, a loud swear, Derek's name, and he was coming, clenching hard around the length inside him, shooting off and painting the wolf's torso, marking him in his own way.

The knowledge that he was being claimed as Stiles' territory once more had Derek drawing his legs up as much as he could with the weight on his hips, thrusting as hard as he could, knot expanding to its limit. A growl rumbled up painfully from his throat, forcing itself past gritted teeth, and he spilled inside Stiles, filling him up and trapping it inside.

The aftermath had Stiles collapsing on top of him, trembling, Derek quaking through his own aftershocks and feeling overly sensitive. Still, he focused his attention on his Mate, rubbing his back and kissing his sweaty hair as their breathing recovered and their heart rates leveled out and their skin grew back to normal size. It was absolute bliss, the two of them in their own bubble, like the world was kept at bay by the Christmas lights.

Only problem seemed to be the fact that the comforter was down by the foot of the bed and at some point, Stiles was gonna get cold while they were still tied together.

That, and the alarm blaring from Derek's nightstand.

Stiles lifted his head and glared at it like it was everything wrong with the world—and Derek honestly somewhat agreed—before the wolf slapped it off. The scowl was then aimed at him, annoyed and puzzled, and all Derek could do was grin up at him, ears burning.

“I actually wanted to be the one to wake you up first,” he admitted, reaching under his pillow and groping around for what he'd hidden the day before. “Was hoping to surprise you and have you see this first thing when you opened your eyes.” Finding what he was searching for, he brought out the small black box, watching as Stiles' eyes grew wide and his jaw grew slack once more.

Propping himself up with his forearms on Derek's chest, Stiles' flicked his eyes back and forth between his boyfriend and the present he held. His scent was alight with hope and trepidation, like he was secretly wishing for something but didn't wanna set himself up for disappointment. “Wha—?” he managed to get off before his voice gave and he swallowed hard, directing pleading eyes onto Derek.

The wolf decided to help him out, to put him out of his misery, and so he easily flicked the box open. There, within crushed black velvet, was a silver ring lined with diamonds: simple, elegant, and leaving no room for confusion over what it symbolized.

“Yes!” Stiles burst out, grinning wide, and Derek pouted up at him.

“I gotta ask first.”

“Then fucking ask.” He was unrepentant, practically buzzing with excitement, lips pressed into a hard line as though he could possibly hold back any more outbursts.

“Will you ma—”

“Yes!”

“Stiles, I swear to god, I will take it back and never ask you again.”

Brown bambi eyes were rolled and an unelegant snort released, Stiles believing that statement about as much as Derek did. Which was to say, not at all.

Trying for a third time, Derek slapped his free hand over his Mate's mouth before speaking, able to get the whole thing out this time. “Will you marry me, you impatient, annoying, pain in my ass?”

He could feel the grin behind his palm, Stiles nodding vehemently, and Derek moved his hand only to have his lips attacked by another set. The human kissed with as much fervor and joy as he always did, maybe even more so, hands clutching onto whiskered cheeks and Derek's arms slowly wrapping around his lean frame, box forgotten in his hand. Not that it mattered. Not that the tree downstairs or the presents underneath it mattered either. He had his Mate, his happiness, and had left all the trauma of his past behind.


End file.
